We saw a couple of most rockin bands on Friday night. The smoky little room above the pub was crammed with drinking dancing bodies, and Gareth seemed to know about 90% of them. How can one person have so many bloody acquaintances? Maybe it just seems a lot compared to the measly three or four people I know in Scotland.
The thing about knowing so many people is that you don’t always get to catch up that often, so they’re not always up to speed on what you’ve been up to. Like getting married and stuff. We were just squeezing past the masses on our way out when an old mate of Gareth’s appeared and gave a drunken grin of recognition. “Gareth! You handsome bastard! How the hell are you?”
Slurred pleasantries were exchanged, then he noticed me attached to the end of Gareth’s hand.
His grin got bigger. “Wah-hey!” he crowed, “Gaun yersel big man. I’ll leave you to it. You have a GOOD NIGHT!”. He gave Gareth a congratulatory slap on the shoulder.
“You take this man home!” he shouted after me as we headed down the stairs, “And you shag him good. He deserves it. Oh yeah. SHAG HIM GOOD!”